


Power Play

by Hoodoo



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Dominance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feathers & Featherplay, Hardcore, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Spanking, Submission, Vaginal Sex, surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 11:19:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14810375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: You submit to Rick, and it is good.





	Power Play

“You can still draw a breath?”

Even though the ropes are tied securely, expertly, you can and do.

“Yes.”

He raises his eyebrows and his mouth turns down into the beginnings of a frown.

“Sir! Yes, Sir,” you amend quickly.

That frown fades and his expression softens.

“Good,” Rick replies, even as he runs a finger under one rope on your ribcage to test it himself. 

The gesture is ticklish but you know better than to make a comment about it or wiggle. Not that you could move much anyway; the soft ropes criss-crossing your body make it nearly impossible to move. With the exception of them, you’re nude. You’ve been positioned on your stomach over a cushioned ottoman. With a spreader bar secured to your ankles and your forearms parallel to each other over the small of your back and bound, you’re bent in the middle. For the moment, you can turn your head and rest your cheek on the cushion below you, but Rick may move you to another position, based on a whim, if he choses.

As it is now, however, your knees are on the floor.

Rick double checks the restraints, his thin finger testing their tautness and knot integrity. When he seems satisfied, he stands in front of you. From your spot, you only see his thighs unless you twist your head.

You do, and smile up at him. He’s not naked, which is something that excites you too; the contrast between you bare before him and him fully clothed is titillating.

He doesn’t smile back. He looks over you, bound and at his mercy, for a moment, then steps away. You don’t follow his movement by turning your head.

When he returns, he squats next to you. In his hands is a black silk cloth. It’s heavy, not flimsy, and the soft folds of it catch and reflect the light in shades of grey and slate.

You catch your breath. Your transgression—not addressing him correctly—hadn’t been forgiven, no matter what was written on his face earlier.

“Blinded, tonight,” he tells you, as if you didn’t already infer.

“Yes, Sir,” you agree.

With the same deft touch as binding you, he fits and ties the cloth over your eyes. It doesn’t block the light completely, but you’re effectively cut off from all shapes and movement. Your eyelashes brush against it when you blink.

For a moment, again, he stands before you and doesn’t move. He’s considering something.

“No gag,” he decides.

“Sir?”

“I like the sounds you make. And you’ll be able to continue to use my proper title.”

A thrill makes you shiver. Blindfolded but ungagged means he plans something . . . harsher than normal.

You shiver again, agreeing, “Yes Sir,” and then Rick moves away.

You try to listen to where he might have gone, where he might be, but on the carpet in the room he’s quiet as a mouse and sly as a fox. When the minutes pass and you’re not spoken to or touched, it crosses your mind that maybe he left. Maybe that was your punishment for not calling him by his respectful title! If it was, it would be the severest penalty he’s ever inflicted. Leaving you trussed and exposed . . .

Still, you focus on your breathing and try to remain relaxed.

After an indeterminate time goes by—there’s no way to measure it here, like this—you feel rather than hear him come close to you again.

You’re so primed, so anticipatory for him to do something, anything, that when the first touch strokes your upper arm, you gasp and jump.

Rick chuckles. “Hypersensitive tonight?”

“Y-yes, Sir!” you gasp.

He strokes you again, and now that you’re ready for it, you can tell it’s just a feather. It’s ticklish, now, and you can’t help but squirm a little bit. He chuckles again and the feather drifts along your body, barely touching, igniting nerve endings along your back, outer thighs, and calves. He moves it on the soles of your feet and involuntarily you jerk, but he doesn’t linger there. It glides back up you, on your inner legs now, flicking from one to the other, before ghosting along one side of your pussy, to the swell of your ass.

“Do you remember the safe word? Answer me yes or no,” Rick says in a deep voice.

“Yes! Sir!” you reply immediately.

He slaps you, hard, right where the feather had been.

You cry out in surprise, pain, and pleasure. He smacks you again, a resounding blow, and the same sound erupts from you. Just those two strikes, and your ass is on fire. The feather dances over the marks you know he’s left, and it feels like tiny streaks of flame instead of light teasing. It retreats again.

There’s a pause. You hold your breath even though he’s advised you not to do that. The next touch is along the cleft of your pussy. Like every other bit of contact he’s graced you with tonight, you’re not expecting it. As it sweeps over your folds, you stutter a little gasp.

Another pause, and now you hear him go to his knees. His cool fingers replace the feather, spreading your labia, exposing you even further. You know he’s examining you, taking in your most intimate area, and being so literally laid bare sends another thrill through you. Automatically your hips raise as best they can at his caress. Then the tip of the feather is back, grazing along your clit so delicately it can barely be felt. But you’re ready for it, and even that subtle touch at your most pleasurable spot sends sparks of ecstasy through you. 

You moan.

“That’s what I like,” Rick says. “You have such a pretty moan.”

He repeats the gesture, lighting up the same pleasure and making you moan more deeply, and you attempt to push back to get more stimulation. However, Rick puts his free hand on the back of your neck, just under your skull, and pins you in place.

“Don’t be greedy,” he warns in a low voice that borders on dangerous.

“N-n-no Sir!” you stutter in a lie.

It’s a lie you know he hears. But it doesn’t move him. He continues his tease, flicking the feather against your clit again and again, driving you to higher and higher, closer to a peak. You want it, you need it, ever since he brought the ropes out tonight there’d been a low level of excitement burning in your gut, and this was torture, just torture—

Here, he lost his stutter. Here, he gained a confidence that was rarely exhibited out in the world. Under his capable and competent hands, he raised you up to just the crest of a climax, then brought you back down, then pushed you further along the edge. Again. And again. You frayed apart under his touch; you gave yourself over to him and let him be in control. Your trust in him made him assertive. He was strict but fair when he held power over you.

As his tickling continues, you can’t help but whine. “Please, Sir! Please!”

“Please what?”

He’s stumped you, there. Please _everything,_ is what you want to demand, but that’s not your place. He already cautioned you not to be greedy—

You can only whimper a wordless response, and that would never do for him. He expects obedience, and not answering a direct question could be construed as defiance or insolence.

Rick leaves the feather in place, keeping that tormenting pressure on your clit, but finally releases the back of your neck. You know better than to move, but still can’t form words, with the stimulation you’re receiving. 

His hand lands another stinging blow on your ass.

You gasp from the same ache and pleasure, but before you can respond further, his mouth replaces the feather, suckling at your clit with tongue and lips.

Although the network of ropes plus the bar at your ankles keeps you in one position, you still succeed in bucking upwards against the unexpected but not unwelcome sensation of his mouth on you. It is warm and soft and he manages a combination of heavy suction and lapping with the flat of his tongue and you keen with the rapture that sends you, finally, to the pinnacle--

Rick stops.

Your wail of pleasure disintegrates into a mewl of despair at the loss.

You’re unfulfilled, and achy, and needy, now. You were so close; your pussy throbs in tiny residual fingerlings of desire. It feels warm and slick and you just need a little more . . . Rick was being especially punitive tonight, and all for stupidly forgetting to call him his preferred title earlier . . . you _could_ end this right now. You could just say the word and he would stop immediately and then it’d be back to a regular kind of night--

As if he can read your mind, Rick says, “Remember the safe word? Yes or no.”

“Yes! Yes I remember, Sir!”

He gives you another moment, in case you want to use it, but you don’t. You just lay propped by the ottoman, panting, wishing you could close your legs to give some relief to the ache in your groin, but you’re still game for whatever he may have planned next. 

“Good girl,” Rick replies, and you hear him get up off his knees and move around you. 

In front of you, he goes to his knees again. You lick your lips. 

“Keep your mouth closed,” he orders.

You nod instead of answering out loud, which is breaking the rule of speak when spoken to. You remember just as your head moves.

Before you can rectify this mistake, however, Rick draws the feather over your mouth, from top lip to bottom. It makes your lips twitch but you work hard to keep them closed, as he told you. That feather makes little circuits around and over your lips: up, down, across, zig-zagged. You continue to obey and keep them securely shut, no matter how much this tickles and makes you want to lick or bite your lips. 

Finally, obviously amused by your attempts to do just as he asked--you can tell because he huffs a quiet laugh above you--Rick removes the feather.

“Open.”

“Yes Sir--” you answer quickly, and drop your jaw.

Expecting the feather, almost expecting his cock, you’re startled it’s neither. Two of his long fingers press onto your tongue. You close your lips around them and suck, as you know is expected. 

Rick lets you lavish attention on his fingers. You treat them like his cock, applying constant suction, pulling them in further, rotating your tongue around them--you coat them heavily with saliva. He extracts them unexpectedly, leaving you gasping, then pushes his thumb into your mouth as well. 

You give it the same treatment. By the time he removes it and presses the flat of his palm to your lips, you’re moaning with vicarious arousal--you know he’s making you soak his hand so he can stroke himself. The mere thought of him looking down on you, roped and tied and vulnerable, jerking himself off is thrilling, and you feel flushed all at once.

As you lick his palm, the smell of your own spit wafting to you, you squirm a little, wanting another touch, wanting friction. Your pussy still aches, a little, you need more--

Rick sees your movement, of course, and his hand goes to the back of your neck and head again to still you.

You can’t help but groan.

Suddenly his hand is out of your face. You gasp quietly for air. His other hand leaves go of you too and you’re left directionless for a moment. You listen through your breaths for the sound of his hand encircling his cock and the distinctive noise of stroking, but hear nothing. 

Then his dry hand is back on you, his palm on the swell of your ass and his fingers curving around your hip.

“Move forward,” he commands, and you don’t reply verbally this time either, you simply hoist yourself up by lifting your pelvis and pushing forward with your toes. It scoots your head and a bit of your shoulders off the ottoman, but the ropes have bound you securely and you’re in no danger of falling off onto your face. 

The position elevates your groin, and due to the spreader bar, you’re further bared before him. 

“You haven’t been very good tonight,” he tells you. “You’ve been whiny and impatient, and you’ve forgotten--or willfully ignored--several basic rules. You deserve this.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s correct; you haven’t been paying enough attention and broken simple, established rules. Did he have you raise your ass in the air so he has easier access to spank you harder? Will he force you to stay in this awkward position until your legs are shaky from holding you up, just because he can? Will he jerk off over you, spurting come on your skin and leave you unfulfilled? You’re anxious and excited, all swirled together, and it results in being painfully aroused. 

There’s a minor breeze that moves across your exposed pussy, and you barely have time to wonder what he may do next before you feel him settle behind you and push his cock fully into you.

The noise you make is a combination of gasp and moan. It’s drawn out and heavy, echoing the pleasure you feel of his cock deep within you. He’d obviously lubricated himself with your spit, but even without it you were wet enough that he’d have had no difficulty filling you. You take most of his weight as he leans forward. 

Rick’s pace is sharp. There is no gentle rocking, just his pelvis slamming into your ass, his balls striking your clit, his cock opening you up, then pulling away, again and again. The feel of it is indescribable but just what you needed. Your tits were bound but your nipples rub against the velvet covering the ottoman, and the sensation is almost unbearable it’s so much. You howl your pleasure and wish you could do more; you want to push against him, want to move your hips. Instead you have to just take his thrusts.

Rick’s hands find purchase on the soft flesh of your hips. A few of his fingers curl under the ropes, making them tighter, but you don’t--can’t--care. At this point he’s not as stoic and detached as he’d been previously; his breath is punctuated by tiny groans too.

When his grip becomes even tighter and he pauses for a millisecond, you know he’s almost done. You tighten the muscles in your cunt around him and wait for the inevitable--

“Say my name!” he orders.

It surprises you; you weren’t expecting that. “Uhmm, Sir?”

_“Say my name!”_ he barks again, a little louder, a little fiercely. 

One hand smacks you again, and that’s startling too, but in a way that resonates through you; it shakes your pelvic region and with his cock deep inside your pussy it seems to light up new nerves, sparking ecstasy within you.

“Rick!” you cry. “Rick Jay-19-Zeta-7!”

As the words spill from your lips he cries out too, and orgasms buried completely in you. He tenses his entire body as it happens, and that pushes you to climax too. You howl again, your pussy clenching rhythmically around him. 

Rick waits until you’re spent, then carefully withdraws. His hands, so tight before, help guide you back down on the ottoman so you’re not in such an upraised position. 

You lay quietly, propped up, as he quickly unlatches your ankles. As the bar is removed, your legs automatically close with the residual pulses of pleasure. You’re wet and slick between your thighs; your pussy is warm and sweetly aching. 

Rick wraps his hands around the spots on your ankles the cuffs had been. In reflex, you open your legs again but he chuckles and only rubs the areas a little more. 

Then he starts untying the ropes binding your arms, then your torso. Because they’re spider-webbed front and back in an intricate design, he helps you sit up to finishing unwrapping you. He presses little kisses where each knot had been, his own little aftercare ritual. Your lower arms he massages gently to help ease any tender or numb spots. You shake them out and support yourself on the ottoman when he finishes.

Lastly, he undoes the knot on the silk blindfold. 

As it slips away, he’s in front of you, smiling. 

“Was-was-was that okay?”

“Mmm-hmm. It was perfect!”

“I wasn’t too-too rough or mean or anything?”

As in charge and smooth as he is when you hand him the reins, he always makes sure he didn’t overstep any boundaries. The safe word was his idea, not yours, when you play like this.

“Rick, I loved it. It was so good!”

He searches your face, to make sure you’re telling the truth. You smile at him, and take his hand. Tugging him a little closer, you kiss him soundly on the mouth. He grins through it, breaking it before you would have preferred. 

“When did you get undressed?” you ask. “Did you leave the room? I didn’t hear anything.”

“Y-yes, I left. For just a mo-moment. You were okay, right?”

You quickly reassure him. “Yes! It really made me wonder what was happening. Made me more eager. Made me sweat a little bit, but in a good way.”

He blushes, and you kiss him again.

“Let’s go clean up, okay?” he says. He gestures to all the paraphernalia laying around: the ropes, the blindfold, a pair of scissors, the spreader bar, and the feather. Several feathers, in fact; some are stiffer and have more of a point, one is a peacock feather with a much softer tip. “I’ll straighten all this up later.” 

You agree to the washing, but tell him you’re happy to help clean up the room too. He insists he’ll do it, you insist you’ll help, and you both playfully argue about it as you head to the bathroom for a shower. 

 

_fin._


End file.
